


Hello From the Outside

by shoreleave



Series: Yorktown [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Miscommunication, Mother-Son Relationship, Post-Star Trek Beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:50:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoreleave/pseuds/shoreleave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim calls his mother. It doesn't go well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello From the Outside

“Mom. How’re you doing?”

“Jim! I knew you’d call.” She sounds genuinely pleased, and he lets out a little breath of relief. She doesn’t complain that his call is three days late; she knows subspace communication isn’t always reliable, especially this far out. 

“We’ve…” He almost says _docked_ , but checks himself at the last moment. _Enterprise_ isn’t docking anywhere, anymore. “Uh, we’re at the _Yorktown_.” Obviously, she can see that from the link address, but it’s a way to get the conversation going.

“On leave, I suppose? Say hello to Commodore Paris for me. We’re old friends. Go ahead and switch to video, Jim. We’re orbiting Andoria; the link should be stable enough.”

“No,” Jim says, a little too quickly. “I mean… they’re doing some work on the main transmission tower.”  _Because it was sliced in half by the swarm ships._ “Audio’s the best we can do.” 

“I suppose.... I’d just like to see your face.”

_No, you really wouldn’t_. He got a look at himself in a mirror a few hours ago, when he was finally allowed up for the first time--a short, painful shuffle to the head, under the watchful eye of one of the nurses. His face was so swollen, scraped, and bruised that he’d averted his gaze in disgust. There was too much deja vu in his reflection--Jim Kirk, Riverside’s most famous repeat offender and general fuck-up--an unpleasant reminder that no matter how how fresh-faced and clear-eyed he looks in his uniform, he’s always a beatdown away from rock bottom. 

He forces out a laugh. “Nah, you’d just tell me I need a haircut.”

“ _Do_ you need a haircut?”

“Probably.” 

There’s an awkward pause between them, which they both rush to fill. “We had a lovely memorial service--” “I’ve got something pretty bad to tell you--”

He waits a beat, giving her time to jump in with “ _What was that, Jim? Tell me what happened!_ ” but she doesn’t--did she even hear him?--so he says, like always, “You first, Mom.” He’s not the least bit interested in the memorial service, but his mother’s grief and loss have always taken priority in their family dynamic.

He’s grateful for the audio link as she launches into her description of the ceremony. She can’t see him fidgeting with impatience, picking at his IV line or wincing as he checks the range of motion in his shoulder. He gives her as little of his attention as he can get away with, asking an occasional question to encourage her. 

“...and I got a beautiful message from Lee Subri--we roomed together at the Academy, she and George even dated for a while, but that was before he met me…”

“That’s great, Mom.”

She prattles on, oblivious to his disinterest. He used to be a lot angrier at her, a lot more resentful, but now he just feels sorry for her. And a little bored.

He’s in the  _ Yorktown_’s overcrowded medical center, in a double room that’s currently housing three other patients. Curtained panels have been set up between the beds to give them a semblance of privacy, but the fact is, Jim can hear every snore, groan, and grunt. His roommates probably aren’t thrilled to be treated to the Kirk family saga, either, but he doesn’t have much choice. His doctor--not Bones, whom hasn’t seen since he woke up from surgery--has made it clear that he’s not going to release Jim for at least another 24 hours. ( _And no, there aren’t any private rooms available, Captain._ ) 

Jim doesn’t expect Bones back anytime soon. Krall’s attack resulted in large numbers of casualties, he knows, most of them traumatic injuries from structural damage and flying debris. Bones is needed elsewhere. Jim doesn’t need a babysitter.

But a small, hurt voice inside him really wishes Bones would hurry the fuck back and get him released, and take him somewhere he can recuperate in peace. Jim doesn’t even mind if Bones yells at him and tells him he’s being juvenile and uncooperative, as long as he can shut the door when he needs to and grieve in private for his crew and his ship.

For now he’s stuck here, and he has to make the call before his mother hears about the  _Enterprise_ disaster from some other source. He really doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of _that_ conversation. 

Meanwhile his mother’s gone on to a new topic, the dark matter they’re mapping in the Andorian system.  _Time to bite the bullet._ “Mom,” he interrupts, “listen, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

“What is it, Jim?” she asks, her tone suddenly hard and brittle, making his stomach clench. It’s the same tone she used to use whenever he screwed up as a kid. _What stupid thing have you gone and done now?_

“We were attacked. Outnumbered. The ship was crippled…”

“What? Where was this? Who attacked you? How did you get to the  _Yorktown_?” 

“We were in an uncharted nebula in this sector,” Jim sighs. “I can’t go into too much detail. I’m telling you what I can.”

“I understand…” And she does, of course. They both know the minute they end the call, she’ll be digging for details on the secure Starfleet server and using her contacts to find out whatever doesn’t make it into the official reports. “Jim, I can’t believe it! Are you all right? What happened to your crew?”

Jim swallows. “There were high casualties.” 137 dead, 96 injured. “ _Enterprise_ was destroyed.”

“Oh, no…”

“It all happened so fast… We had to abandon the ship.”

There’s no response from his mother, and Jim can’t bring himself to say any more. So they sit there for over a minute, in a hideously expensive silence.

He’s not sure what his mother’s telling him in her wordlessness, but he can make a good guess. She’s lost in her own trauma, thrown back into the horror of those last moments on the _Kelvin_. She’s just spent the last few days wallowing in it, so the memories are close and familiar.

He hears her breath catch on a stifled sob. _Oh, shit._ He hates hurting her, reminding her, disappointing her. “I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

“Of course,” she says dully. “You did the right thing.”

“We got them in the end. _Yorktown_ is safe.”

Another silence, and then, “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.” Why worry her? She can’t see him anyway. She doesn’t have to know. Of course she’ll probably find out eventually, when she gets the full story from her good friend Commodore Paris, but by then Jim’ll be back on his feet. And his mother won’t call him just to ask about old injuries.

“Good.”

She’s silent again, while Jim tries to think of something to say.  _I’m sorry_ is the first thing that comes into his mind. He _is_ sorry, and the guilt is chewing him up from the inside, but he can’t give voice to it with those two ineffectual words--and anyway, his mother’s not the one he needs to beg forgiveness from. _I don’t know what to do now_ sounds too helpless, too panicky, and the last thing he wants is for his mother to give him unwanted advice. 

He feels an almost overwhelming urge to tell her something positive, about the decisions he made and the actions he took that saved so many lives, but it would just sound pathetic. He’s a grown man and her opinion shouldn’t matter. Still, when he’s talking to her, he slides right back into old patterns, wanting her approval like he did when he was little. And she’ll never give it to him, not when he’s screwed up this badly.

“We’re going to be here at the station, for a while, I guess,” he says finally. “I’ll let you know.”

“I have to go, Jim. My shift is starting.”

Of course it was. “Sure, Mom. I, uh… guess I’ll get started on all those condolence messages.Take care.”

“You too.”

“End transmission.” 

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. He feels like he’s been gutted and drained, and at the same time, he wants to smash something. He’s just devastated his mother (again), and tied himself into knots as usual instead of saying what he wanted to say. 

He’s not sure what he wanted to say. 

He sits there frozen for a few minutes, running the conversation over and over again through his mind, while the tension in his muscles builds and his cheeks flush hot. It takes him a while to realize that someone’s standing just outside his curtained-off cubicle, looking at him steadily.

Bones. Perfect timing as usual. Jim doesn’t have to wonder whether he overheard the conversation. The disapproving frown on Bones’ face is confirmation enough. Jim doesn’t know what he did just now to piss his friend off, but he’s in no mood to deal with it.

“Go away, Bones.”

Naturally, the doctor ignores his request and takes a step forward. “You OK, Jim?”

He sighs. “Fine. Just had to tell Mom I lost the ship. She took it pretty hard.”

“I heard.” Bones steps forward until he’s standing beside the bed, his eyes on the readouts over Jim’s head.

Jim scowls. He hates that he can’t see his own biostats, but the doctors can. It always feels like an invasion of privacy. “Thought you didn’t approve of eavesdropping.”

Bones flicks his gaze back to Jim. “ _Spock_ does it all the time, ‘cause his hearing’s so damn acute, and that’s just annoying. I wasn’t eavesdropping, I came back to see how you’re doing.”

“You could’ve told me you were here! Or walked back out of the room.” Bones just shrugs, not looking guilty in the slightest, and Jim doesn’t have the energy to argue with him. “Whatever. Where’ve you been?”

“Lie on your right side, I want to check the wound. Where d’ya think? In surgery for twelve hours straight. I just grabbed a few hours of sleep and a quick shower, and I’m about to head back. Just wanted to see if you’d made a break for it yet.”

Bones has peeled back the bandage on his back and is touching the area gingerly. It’s not pleasant, although not sharply painful, either. “Now that you bring it up--”

“ _No_. No early release, not this time. Don’t start bugging me about it.” His fingers are skimming over the sensitive skin along Jim’s torso that was burned in the explosion. “These burns are healing nicely. But that shard was filthy with airborne contaminants and the wound’s still draining. You’re not going anywhere for a while.” He checks Jim’s IV line, asks him a number of questions, tells him to take the deepest breath he can-- _Ouch_ \--and makes him sit forward as he probes his shoulder joint.

“Ow! Enough already!”

“You’re gonna need some physical therapy.”

“I thought you came by to see _me_ ,” Jim says sourly, while Bones is busy tapping something into his chart. “Next time I’ll just send you a copy of the readouts and give you a list of my symptoms.”

“Wouldn’t work. I need to do a hands-on exam, and anyway, you always lie.”

“No, I don’t!” Bones gives him a wry look, and Jim amends, “Well… not _always_.”

“You did just now.”

“I didn’t,” he protests. “I’m feeling pretty good, all in all. Or at least I was, until you started poking around back there. Are you _trying_ to make it hurt?”

Bones finally stops fiddling with his chart, with a final nod of satisfaction, and parks himself on the edge of Jim’s bed. “I meant, you were lying when you said you were fine after that conversation with your Mom.”

Jim looks away. “Drop it, Bones. It’s not your business.” But he knows, from the way Bones has squared his shoulders and is giving him that piercing don’t-hide-from-me look, that he’s not going to let this go.

“It is, when you’re a patient under my care.”

“Technically that’s not even true.” Bones isn’t his doctor here, although that hasn’t seemed to stop him from examining Jim and adding orders to his chart.

Bones just waves an uncaring hand, anyway, as if medical regs only matter when they’re applied to other people. “How’d you get your hands on that comm, anyway? You’re still recovering from surgery.”

“Rank hath its privileges.” Jim gives him a sheepish grin. “Spoke with Spock a few hours ago, had Yeoman Rand bring it for me.”

“I’m going to have a word with him, then. You don’t need that kind of stress when you’re in the hospital!”

He’s willing to take a lot from his friend, but this is getting close to the limit. “It’s just a call to my  _mother_ , for God’s sake, not a one-on-one with Admiral Nogura. I _told_ you I was going to call her. I call her every year on the day. It’s what we do.” 

Bones scoffs. “On the _day_. That’s what you call it, right? Because calling it your birthday would be too goddamn _insensitive_ , I guess. Too much of a reminder that she’s supposed to be celebrating your life instead of mourning the past. She should be calling you, not the other way around!”

“That’s enough.” He uses his calmest, most controlled Captain’s voice, but he can feel that traitorous muscle twitching in his jaw. 

Bones has his own authoritative tone, plus a hard glare that pins him in place. “Jim,” he says slowly, “you just told your mother that you were attacked and had to abandon ship. You said _Enterprise_ was destroyed and half your crew were killed or injured. Any fool could hear how wrecked you are. And she was so focused on herself that she couldn’t find a word of comfort for you.”

The words hang there between them, harsh and unyielding. Jim can’t avoid the truth in them, and for a moment he hates Bones for being so blunt and direct.

And Bones is wrong, anyway. “You don’t understand anything… You don’t know what she’s gone through, what it did to her…” 

“I don’t give a damn, it was thirty years ago, Jim! She can’t see what’s right in front of her, and I’ll bet she’s never seen your birth for the miracle it was!”

“Oh, come _on_ …”

“Why don’t you ever call her on her shit?”

“She’s my mother! For better or for worse. What do you want me to do, exactly?”

“I want you to get your head out of your ass and see her passive-aggressive manipulation for what it is, damn it!”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” Bones has got him so rattled, he’s starting to sound like the rebellious teenager he used to be.

“Oh, really? When I came in here, your blood pressure was going through the roof and you looked like you were ready to  punch somebody.”

Well, he can’t deny that.

Jim sighs and slumps back on the pillow, defeated. “Fine, you win,” he says morosely. “It’s always about her, even when it’s not. Happy?”

To his credit, Bones doesn’t look victorious, he looks concerned. “Course I’m not happy, kid. I just can’t stand it when you let her do this to you.”

Jim wipes a shaky hand over his face. “She’s the only family I’ve got. She’s not going to change. I don’t want to cause her any more grief.”

“I can appreciate that. You’re trying to be a good son. Hang on, I’ll get you something to drink.”

By the time the doctor is back a minute later, Jim’s composed himself a little and brushed the wetness out of the corners of his eyes. He takes the water gratefully.

“She’s not a bad mother,” Jim tells him, handing the empty cup back, “she’s just limited. She’s doesn’t know how to see things from anyone’s perspective but her own. She’s never understood me, not even when I was a kid. And now…” He pauses, then admits, “I don’t think she knows me at all.”

“It’s her loss, Jim.” 

Their eyes meet. “Thanks,” Jim says. “I guess I needed to hear that.”

“Yeah, you did.” Bones squeezes his good shoulder, then turns to go. “I’ll be back tonight. Try not to be too uncooperative.”

Jim grins. “Can’t promise that. I have a reputation to uphold.”

There’s a wet cough and a groan from the bed on his right. To his left, the patient’s family has apparently arrived, complete with a couple of kids who are greeting their father enthusiastically. Terrific.

“Bones…” He doesn't have to say any more than that.

His friend drops a considering gaze on him, and Jim tries to look appropriately pathetic. “All right. _If_ the wound looks good. _If_ there’s no fever. And _if_ you swear to do everything I say...”

“...you’ll get me released tonight,” Jim finishes. “I knew there was a reason I keep you on my staff.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bones says, sauntering out, “I should ask for a raise.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
